


Meeting Myself

by Tennyo



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Background Destiel, Blow Jobs, Canonical Character Death, Feelings, M/M, Marijuana, POV Alternating, Set in between 9.06 and 9.09, Snuggling, Theft, but it's at the very end, casturbation, drug references, semi-canon, squatting in abandoned buildings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-22
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-03-31 16:29:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3984973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tennyo/pseuds/Tennyo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas wakes up in the middle of a forest. The last thing he remembers is fighting Croats in that sanitarium.<br/>How the hell did he get to Idaho in 2013?<br/>And who is this gas-station-guy named Steve who looks like a carbon copy of himself?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Rexford, since canonically based a bit on Rexburg ID, has taken on a couple of features from the real place in order to help the story.
> 
> There will be mentions of Dean/Cas relations. 
> 
> First chapter is rated PG-ish. There will be sexual relations in later chapters. The fic is completely written, and will be posted with a couple of days in between.
> 
> Let me know if I forgot a tag.

Cas last remembers fighting off Croats in the abandoned sanitarium during a suicide mission, his supply of ammunition exhausted. He wakes up in the middle of a forest in the mountains. His head is killing him, the weapon he was holding is missing, and this really doesn’t look anything like Michigan. Or Missouri. Just where the hell is he? And how did he get here?

After getting up and dusting himself off, Cas figures the best bet is to head downhill. Eventually, he finds a road and follows it. While he’s walking, a truck winds its way down the road, and Cas freezes. He doesn’t know anything about where he is, what the situation is, or how close to a Croat zone he might be. As the truck gets closer, it looks… new and modern, and has an Idaho license plate. How could he have gotten to Idaho? Whatever the reason, the people here seem well off.

He pauses near a speed limit sign, and waits for the truck to pass. But the truck doesn’t pass by, it slows down and stops. Right next to him. The passenger window smoothly slides down, and soft music emanates from inside. The young man driving the truck leans over, and Cas can see he’s dressed in what Dean might call “Abercrombie Douche”. Dean. What happened to him, and the one from 2009?

“Hey there. You need a lift?” Asks the young man.

Cas is very tempted to say no. He knows nothing about this man’s motives or alliances. However, it’s getting late, and if he’s still in the mountains when it gets dark, he doesn’t have any form of shelter. Putting on his best smile, Cas comes up to the side of the shiny blue truck.

“I’d appreciate it, but…” He looks down at his worn and dirty clothes. “I don’t want to get your interior dirty. Mind if I ride in the back?”

The young man gives him an inquisitive look, but shrugs. “Hey, whatever you’re comfortable with. I’m headed all the way into town. You need dropping off anywhere particular?”

“The closest convenience store will do.”

The driver leans back into his seat and makes a welcoming gesture. “Well, hop on in.”

After Cas hauls himself into the bed of the truck, the young man opens a small window in the back windscreen.

“Just yell if you need anything, alright?”

Cas nods, “Sure. I appreciate this.”

“No problem.” A hand appears through the window. “My name’s Jesse by the way.”

Cas grasps the hand firmly and releases it. “Clarence.”

* * *

 

Castiel, or Steve as he’s currently known, is working his shift at the Gas ‘n Sip. It’s late enough in the evening that the shadows outside are long, and he will have to make sure the external lights come on soon, because the timer has been malfunctioning. Right now, he needs to finish stocking the motor oil. While he’s crouched down, lining up bottles on the bottom shelf, the door chimes.

He glances up at the curved security mirror to see a head of dark hair, and an olive green jacket head towards the restrooms. He would normally think they were filling up, but the service bell didn’t ring, and the control panel didn’t beep like it should. Stretching, he doesn’t see a car at the pumps or in the lot. Probably a pedestrian, who will more than likely wish to purchase a drink or snack. He quickly finishes his task, and takes the empty box to the cash register with him, to break it down while he waits for the customer to make their selections.  

The door to the bathroom opens and closes, and he can see the top of their tousled, dark hair as they make their way slowly up the snack aisle. Castiel looks down to the box in his hands and uses a box cutter to cut the tape holding it together. While he’s flattening it, he glances up and realizes the customer is no longer visible. He looks at the curved mirror and sees the person crouched down in front of the potato chips.

Something seems oddly familiar about the slightly distorted figure who appears to be debating the difference between Doritos and Funyuns. His thought about his own preference is put on hold when he sees the person stuff a bag of chips in their jacket. Oh. He’s been trained to deal with this. He tenses as he waits for the person to either come to the counter or try to run for it. But then they glance up and he gets a look at the person’s face. It’s a face he’s seen in the bathroom mirror. The man shoplifting from the Gas ‘n Sip looks just like him.

The man sees the curved mirror, and freezes as well. They both stare at each other via the distorted reflection. This man has more facial hair than Castiel, and his mannerisms are nothing like now or when he was an angel. Is it possible that somehow a shapeshifter has managed to copy him without his knowledge? Tensing, he glances down at his workstation, hoping for anything he can use in defense. A ball-point pen can be used if the attacker is distracted, but the letter opener he keeps in a drawer would work better.

When he looks up, the doppelgänger has gotten closer, with a strange, wide smile on his face. Now Castiel can start to notice subtle differences from the face he normally sees in a mirror. The creases around his eyes are more pronounced, and his cheeks and jaw are softer, his bone structure less pronounced. Perhaps he’s being a little paranoid since Ephraim. Still, Castiel tries to casually lean against the counter so he can slide a hand in the drawer for the letter opener. Because what are the chances that a regular man that just happens to look just like him would walk into _his_ Gas ‘n Sip?

* * *

 

Cas should have thought to look for the cameras and mirrors. He’d gotten sloppy. But finding a familiar face looking back at him? Now _that_ he wasn’t expecting. Having just left behind two Deans, he’d been wondering if he’d been similarly displaced, and this could get interesting. With a wide smile, Cas approaches the counter. The guy’s nametag says STEVE, and Cas doesn’t miss the slight weight shift so Steve can reach for something. Alarm button? Gun? Cas slows down and raises his hands, slowly pulling the bag of chips from his jacket. Gonna have to use some of his cash. Luckily, he’d been able to swipe a couple of wallets since he got dropped off at the Walgreens down the road.

As he sets the chips down on the counter, he sees the other guy squint and frown at him. This version of himself must have not been human for as long, and still has a few of his old habits. With a casual air, he reaches for the wallet in his back pocket.

“Sorry to freak you out there,” he says, tossing down a five. “The coffee any good?”

Steve looks down at the money and his expression loses some of its wariness. As his hand reaches for the cash, he says, “It should be fine, I just refreshed it about an hour ago.”

And yeah, there’s that odd sensation of hearing your own voice when you’re not the one speaking.  “Well, take the cost of a cup outta that. I could use some.”

He turns around and heads over to the corner where the coffee is set up, and preps a cup with extra cream and sugar. Stirrer between his teeth, he snaps on a lid and heads back to the cash register, where Steve has his change in hand. Fingertips brush his palm as coins and a dollar bill are dropped in.

Steve has taken to outright staring now, probably cataloguing the differences. There aren’t many. The other guy is a little thinner, more tidy. His hair is neatly combed, shirt only slightly rumpled. There are no stains on his gas station vest. Those eyes are the same bright blue. Cas breaks eye contact by bringing his coffee cup to his lips and taking a careful sip. It’s all he can do to not moan, it’s been so long since he’s had real coffee. The shit they’d had at the camp was more chicory than bean, and was always overbrewed.

Cas lowers his cup to see Steve still blatantly staring. Time to screw with the guy a bit. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

The guy immediately lowers his eyes, and stumbles over an apology. “I, err, I’m sorry, um, it’s just… uhh...”

Cas leans forward, eyes wide as he grabs his chips. “Like lookin’ in a mirror, ain’t it.”

A crease forms between Steve’s brows as his head tilts to the side a little. “Well, I wouldn’t say it’s quite like a mirror. After all, there are some differences.”

If Cas wasn’t sure, that little mannerism and speech pattern clinched it. This is a version of himself. But how did he end up as a gas station attendant in the middle of Nowhere, Idaho? Did something happen to Dean? Thanks to his stop at Walgreens he already knows it’s 2013, but why? He opens his mouth to say something when there’s a double ding of a bell, and they both turn to watch a minivan pull up at the pumps. The van’s side door slides open and a handful of children pile out. Time to make himself scarce. He aims for the door and slips out before Steve can say a word.

* * *

 

Castiel watches as the other man makes his way outside the Gas ‘n Sip. He wishes there had been the chance to talk to him. Is he a local? What’s his name? Is he somehow related to Jimmy Novak? The front door chimes again as the group of children make their way inside and noisily peruse the snack aisle. Castiel shakes his head and focuses on the new group of customers.

It’s not until later that night, when it’s near closing, that he allows himself to think of the mysterious customer that looked so much like him. It’s been empty and quiet for the past half hour, and most of his closing duties have been completed. All he’ll need to do is turn off the pumps, shut off the lights, and count out the till. He remembers the unkempt appearance of the man, and hopes he’s not homeless. Castiel knows all too well what it’s like not having a place to sleep. He thinks about what it would be like to sleep in a real bed instead of the sleeping bag on the store’s hard floor, to not have to make sure you wake up in time to exit the building before the morning shift arrives, or to not have to sneak in after closing.

While he’s straightening the roadmaps, he gets the eerie sensation that he’s being watched. The external lighting reveals nobody out in the parking lot, so Castiel tries to shrug it off. Human bodies are so strange, and prone to false signals at times. It’s an interesting concept that helps him understand why sometimes humans can act irrational.

The clock strikes eleven, and Castiel locks the door and turns off the pumps. The lights get switched to overnight, which only leaves enough to see by as he makes his way to the office with the till and receipts for the day. Once everything is counted and the safe is firmly locked, he takes one final look around before heading to the storage room for his sleeping bag. Peeking out the window, he’s shocked to see the man that looks like him leaning against one of the gas pumps. A thought about shapeshifters flits through his mind again, and his hand itches to hold a weapon. He quickly dashes back to where he keeps a bag of his things, and pulls out his angel blade.

Castiel returns to the windows, and the man is standing at the door, one hand on the glass. The glint of his blade draws the man’s attention, and his eyes widen in recognition before he breaks into another wide grin. The man points to the blade, then pulls back a sleeve to reveal his forearm, and makes a cutting motion. He… actually wants to be tested? This is all very abnormal, and it makes Castiel even more cautious. He points at the camera that monitors the entrance, forks his fingers at his own eyes, them points at the man, who nods enthusiastically. Then, the man raises his hands up in a gesture of surrender.

Well, either they’re going to stare at each other all night, or whatever is going to happen will happen. Watching the man carefully, Castiel unlocks the door and cracks it wide enough for the man’s arm, and waits for the arm to slide its way through before grasping the wrist. When his blade makes a shallow slice through his forearm, the man flinches, but otherwise there’s no reaction but for a small trickle of blood. Castiel releases the wrist, and the man withdraws his arm to place a palm on the cut. Opening the door wider, Castiel nods and allows the man entry, handing him a napkin.

“Who are you?” he demands, blade still held at the ready.

The man swipes at the cut on his arm with the napkin, then looks up at Cas with a half grin. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m you.”

“But that shouldn’t be possible.” Castiel gestures to the cut arm. “You’re obviously human, so how…” -A thought occurs to him- “ _When_ are you from?”

The other man -his other self- looks up at the ceiling, his lips pressed together, tilting his head side to side. “Mmm, it’s less of a when, and more like another timeline.” He presses a finger to his lips in thought. “Do you remember back in 2009 when Dean disappeared thanks to good old Zachariah?”

Yes, Castiel remembers that night. He had pulled Dean back from that alternate dimension, and Dean had told him to never change. Oh, how he’s failed. With that, and so much more. “Yes,” he says, eyes down. “Dean never did tell me what happened.”

“Yeah well, it wasn’t a fun time. Although it was a trip to see Dean from back before we… um, from back before the apocalypse got started.” The other him shifts his weight on his feet. “Although I can see that it didn’t happen over here. That’s good.”

Castiel nods. “After I brought Dean back, he called Sam. We came close to the world ending a couple of times, but somehow have been able to stop it.” He tries to not think about how many times were his fault.

His double bumps his knuckles against Castiel’s shoulder. “So we gonna hang around here all night, or you gonna invite me over for a beer? Maybe trade stories?”

“I… don’t have anywhere to invite you.” Castiel pulls into himself, the shame of not having a home filling him.

“You… Then where are you sleeping?”

Castiel gestures toward the back. “I keep a sleeping bag. I sleep here when possible.”

The other lets out a sharp laugh. “Seriously? You gotta do better than that, man. Tell you what.” He places a hand on Castiel’s shoulder and looks him in the eye. The gesture reminds him so much of Dean, his heart hurts. “I found a place to crash tonight. Bring your kit, stay the night.”

Castiel’s eyes widen. “Are you sure? I couldn’t impose.”

“Yeah, why not?” He shrugs, “You can help me rig up a shower.”

* * *

 

Cas takes them to an empty store front a couple of blocks south. He’s carrying the sleeping bag while ‘Steve’ carries a small duffle which probably holds all of his worldly possessions. Cas quickly jimmies the already tampered lock on the back entrance of an old video store. He ushers the other him inside; the paper-covered windows allow in a dim light from the streetlamps. Setting the sleeping bag down on a counter, he watches the other version of himself look around the empty space.

The Winchesters are in his forethoughts, but he’s reluctant to ask about them. If he’s all alone, something must have happened. Something bad. To break the silence, he asks how long he’s been human.

“Since May.”

Cas is taken back a little by the response. He’s been human for a couple of years, and had been surrounded by people. A significant portion of those people knew what he was, what he had been. There had been a kind of support system, even if it meant he discovered the wonders of coping using drugs. This one however. Even though he’s homeless, he has found a job, walks the straight and narrow. Seemingly not yet debauched by most of the sins that flesh offers.

After digging around, they rig up a shower in a supply closet with a drain in the floor. There’s an old length of hose, and a water heater that Cas gets working after dicking with some wiring. They attach one end of the hose to the spigot of an industrial sink, and the other dangles over their heads from a loop of wire.  

Waiting for the water to heat, they share a late meal of cold beans and packaged dinner rolls. While they eat, Cas tells his story. About Sam saying yes to Lucifer, the Croatoan virus, Camp Chitaqua. He doesn’t say how much losing Sam changed Dean, how harsh a leader he became, how he taught Cas to cope using drugs. He also doesn’t mention how they became something more than friends, how they warmed each other’s beds to the point that Cas simply lived in the leader’s cabin. That is not for the other him to know. Not how they clung to each other for comfort, even though they were free to be with anyone else they wanted. In a camp surrounded by refugees, they were really all they had left of what had been the makings of an unconventional family.

But Cas does talks about losing Bobby, about Chuck, the way the camp operated. He talks about falling, after his brethren left for good, abandoning Earth because Dean refused to say yes. He talks about breaking his foot last year. He talks of men and women with whom he interacted on an official level. But not the orgies, or the drugs. If Dean never told this one, he should be spared.

After they eat, Cas lets ‘Steve’ have the first shower, and says he’s going to step out for a bit. While the guy showers, Cas runs over to the Walgreens and uses one of the credit cards he swiped earlier to buy an air mattress and a couple of pillows. they can use the sleeping bag for a blanket tonight. He also grabs some soap and a towel for his own shower, as well as a 6-pack of beer.

When he gets back, ‘Steve’ has finished his shower, and is in jeans and a t-shirt. Hair still damp, he’s spreading out his sleeping bag on the floor. Cas hands him the air mattress box, and tells him to get it inflated while he showers.

And oh, god. Hot water. Yeah, he’s been able to have solar heated showers, and baths from pots full of boiled water, but there’s nothing that beats the luxury of a hot shower from a hot water tank, that will refill and heat itself. From a water supply you don’t have to share with the rest of the camp. He stays under the hose until the water cools, then reluctantly pulls back on his only clothes. Going to have to do some shopping, since he has no idea if he’s here permanently. His heart lurches when he thinks about what might have happened to Dean, but there’s really nothing he can do about it, so he tries to not think about it. That’s what the beer is for.

When he comes into the main room, ‘Steve’ is busy using the included foot pump to inflate the mattress; he’s about halfway there. When he sees Cas, he actually offers to loan him some clothes. Cas waves him off. This whole situation is just too weird. The only thing that normalizes it a little is to keep thinking of his double as Steve. After the air mattress is inflated, they sit down on it and each crack open a beer. He finds out that Steve doesn’t usually drink, because all his money goes toward saving for a place to rent, or even a car.

“It’s appalling how much it costs to rent a small room. There are no cheap motels like what Sam and Dean would stay in, here.”

Cas hides a scowl at the mention of the names of the Winchesters. He’s still not ready to ask about them yet. Instead, he thinks about how much money they really spent on hotels. Even the cheap ones, over time, added up. He catches the tail end of what the other guy is saying.

“... And so maybe a car will work. Sleep in the back, and get around town.”

Cas nods and watches Steve take a sip of beer. The guy keeps talking, “At least they finally found a permanent place to rest their heads.”

He can’t help but notice the dejected expression on the guy’s face at that remark. So, Sam and Dean are still alive. With a place of their own. While this universe’s version of him is homeless in Idaho. What the hell happened?

Finishing off his beer, Cas stands up to get another. After popping off the top and taking a long pull, he gets the courage to ask, “So… why aren’t you with them?”

That opens the guy up like the floodgates of a dam. He mentions the Men of Letters bunker, the new Winchester HQ. He talks about the trials to close the gates of Hell, and how Sam would have died if Dean didn’t stop him. Then he talks about Metatron, about the angels falling, and how he was responsible. Oh shit. All the angels fell, instead of leaving? But something doesn’t add up. Even the hard-ass bastard that _his_ Dean was, would never leave a newly human Cas out in the cold, especially with a permanent base of operations. He gently prods for more, plying the guy with more beer.

His double starts confessing every mistake he’s ever made. He talks of Sam throwing himself into the Cage, and about his own death and miraculous resurrection. About his own hubris at thinking he could raise Sam from Lucifer’s Cage, and the mistake of forgetting his soul. He talks about his deal with Crowley, and his fight against Raphael. The purgatory souls, his short stint as god, breaking Sam’s wall, and the Leviathan. How he lived for months with no memory, and then tried to rectify at least one of his mistakes by pulling Sam’s damage into himself. He admits to being a coward when he was broken, that he was afraid of facing his mistakes, in not wanting to fight the Leviathan. Even trying to protect Dean in Purgatory backfired. But then there was Naomi. Even more betrayal. The tablets.

“And I already told you about the fall.”

Cas feels a little sick, and puts down his beer. Honestly, he’s wondering how the man before him keeps it together. If who he is now had to go through all that and then become human? He’d probably just OD on whatever he could get his hands on. Steve is sitting with his head bowed, shoulders slumped, his beer dangling from his fingers.

“I… I was rescued by them,” the man says weakly. “Sam and Dean. I was taken to the bunker, was allowed a shower, and a meal. Then Dean told me I had to leave, for Sam’s sake.”

His double sets down his beer and flops back on the mattress, “I was given some cash and a change of clothes. This town seemed nice, so I decided to stay.”

Now Cas is mad. Yeah, Dean’s always had a complex about his little brother, but they couldn’t have found a way for him to stay in what sounds like a fortress warded against almost everything? He looks down and notices Steve is shaking, an arm over his eyes. He recognizes his own ‘I’m pretending not to have a breakdown’ pose. Guzzling the last of his now-warm beer, Cas lays down and wraps an arm around the trembling figure. With a gasp, Steve freezes for a moment, before giving in to the comforting touch and curling against him. Tears make the front of his shirt wet, as he continues to hold on to the broken man sobbing into his chest. Eventually, the blubbering settles, and the poor guy drifts to sleep.

After extricating himself from the sleeping man’s hold, Cas tucks the sleeping bag around him, then moves over to sit on the counter to finish the rest of the beer. Yeah, they avoided the apocalypse, but at what cost? He glances back down at the familiar tousled hair peeking from the edge of the sleeping bag.

Digging through his jacket pockets, he pulls out a couple of pill bottles. The amphetamines will last for a while, but he doesn’t have anything to help him sleep. There are a couple of Oxy, but until he knows he can get some more, he better save them. In a small baggie are a couple of pre-rolled joints, and he saves those as well. Looks like he’s going to bed with a belly full of beer. After taking a leak in the tiny bathroom, he crawls under the sleeping bag, careful to not jostle his sleeping twin, and stares at the ceiling, playing with the prayer beads around his wrist until exhaustion finally takes him under.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please feel free to give concrit!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel and Cas get used to sharing a living space, and Cas pushes for Castiel to experience a little more of what Humanity has to offer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's some casturbation, and a little bit of alcohol drinking. Talk of drug use.  
> Let me know if I need to add tags, and what you think!

Castiel wakes up warm and comfortable. It’s disorienting, and it takes him a moment to remember what happened. He’s sleeping on an air mattress in an abandoned storefront with his equivalent from another universe. And that person is currently curled up against his back. The mattress seems to have deflated a little during the night, and they’re cradled right in the center. An arm is wrapped around his waist, and warm breath tickles his neck.

He’s considering closing his eyes and slipping back into the luxury of sleep, when he feels something press against his backside. The alternate him has an erection. And he’s slowly grinding it against his rear. The arm around his waist tightens, and a gravelly “Dean” gets breathed into the hairs at the nape of his neck. Suppressing a shiver, Castiel can’t help but notice his own reaction.

A hand trails down his stomach to the front of his jeans, and Castiel freezes when fingers brush against his burgeoning erection. The hand cups his crotch and begins kneading. He feels guilty at the pleasurable sensation, because the other is doing it automatically. He should wake him up, before anything else happens. But he doesn’t, and swallows down a groan as the hand at his crotch increases pressure.

“Mmm, Dean…” his double whispers behind his ear. This time, he can’t suppress the shiver it elicits. Not for the first time, Castiel wonders just how far the relationship had developed between him and Dean in the other timeline. But he hasn’t brought it up, because his other self seemed to avoid any mention of it. With the obviously sexual dream happening behind him, he wonders what could have been if he hadn’t made so many mistakes, if Dean would have not pushed him away.

The hand slides up his abdomen and dips into the front of his jeans. For a moment, he flashes back to April, and what happened after. This is nothing like that scenario however, and he lets that thought go as a gasp escapes his throat. Castiel ponders the difference between this and his only other sexual experience. The person with him is a copy of himself, and there is an erect penis pressing against him. He also knows he shouldn’t allow it to go any further.

While Castiel is trying to decide if he should remove the hand from his pants, or gently elbow his groper awake, he feels a kiss pressed to the side of his neck.

“Mmm. If I have sex with you, is it incest, or masturbation?”

The hand down his pants tightens along his length, and Castiel’s hips jerk. “I… considering we are technically the same entity instead of related, I suppose you could call it mas-masturbation.” His face flushes at the embarrassing topic.

His double brings himself against Castiel’s rear again, and pops the button of Castiel’s jeans. His breath hitches as the zipper is pulled down, and a moan escapes his lips as the hand takes him in a firm grip. While the situation is strange, the sensation is pleasurable.

There’s a soft chuckle in his ear. “You want me to stop?”

He really should say yes, shouldn’t let this continue. He opens his mouth and says, “N-no.”

Teeth gently nibble his earlobe, and hands pull his pants and underwear down his thighs. He tries to turn around, but he’s held in place, the voice in his ear telling him to stay like this. His t-shirt is hiked up near his armpits, and when that warm body slides back up behind him, he feels skin press against his, and a penis nudge between the cleft of his cheeks. Fingers trace his length down to his balls, squeezes them gently. _Oh_ , that feels very good.

“You’ll tell me if anything makes you uncomfortable?”

Unable to form words, Castiel nods. It’s exciting—in a way he didn’t expect. He briefly wonders how much experience this other him has had with sex. If any of that sex was with Dean. Higher brain function stutters to a halt when a firm, calloused hand wraps around his erection and begins stroking. Hips press from behind, creating a rocking rhythm. His partner undoubtedly knows exactly what he would enjoy, and places wet licks and kisses along his neck, with one arm curled under his torso, tracing fingers lightly across his chest. The hand stroking his length avoids his sensitive head, except to occasionally swipe at the slit to gather precome.

The few times Castiel has performed the act of self pleasure, it had never felt like this. Everything is heightened, and while he tries to not compare it to his only other sexual experience with another person, he thinks this might be better; but he’s not sure if that’s because his time with April was tainted by the fact that she tortured and stabbed him after. Whispered words of encouragement soon have him rocking his hips in tandem with the ones grinding behind him, and he takes the advice of the voice murmuring in his ear to just enjoy the ride.

Soon the pleasure and pressure builds, and he’s arching his back, coming into the other’s hand. Crying out with the release, Castiel clings to the mattress, mind swimming. As he catches his breath, he feels the warm body roll away, and then the wet sounds of his partner taking care of his own needs, hand covered with Castiel’s come. He shivers, the sweat on his back and the precome smeared between his cheeks cooling in the air. Head still fuzzy from his orgasm, he feels the mattress shift with the strokes, and hears a grunt, then a sigh, and feels the other body relax.

Not knowing what to do, Castiel holds still, listening to the other catch his breath. After a moment of awkward silence, Castiel hears, “I think we need showers again after that.” He agrees.

* * *

 

After they take turns in the shower, Cas finds out that Steve has today off. He asks to be shown the nearest thrift shop, so he doesn’t have to wear the same clothes any more than he has to. The thrift shop is all the way on the north side of town, and they walk the whole way. As expected, his double is awkward at first, but slowly loosens up as they walk.

He finds a couple of decent shirts, another pair of jeans, and a warmer jacket. Not sure of his situation, Cas figures he might need to prepare for the colder months approaching. Steve frowns when he sees the ID in the wallet Cas is using has the picture of an elderly man, and Cas shrugs. If he’s spent years with the Winchesters, he should be used to a little theft by now.

On the way back, they stop at the Family Dollar to buy a couple cheap towels, some toiletries, and a sheet set for the mattress. After getting back to the empty storefront, Cas changes into his new jeans and a shirt, and they take their belongings to the laundromat. While everything’s washing, they have a heated discussion out in the parking lot about how much money Cas has stolen.

“Listen, I got here completely broke. It’s not like we have things to spend money on back home, alright? I just swiped this old guy’s wallet after he paid for his prescriptions.”

Steve is frowning, his brows drawn down into what he supposes Dean used to call his ‘smitey face’. Sighing, Cas pulls the wallet out of his jacket pocket, holds it out to Steve.

“Tell you what, after we’re done here, I’ll take this back to Walgreens, and say I found it in the parking lot or something. Okay?”

Steve’s expression softens, and he nods. “I understand that the Winchesters do what they have to in order to support their vocation, but I have a job, and can afford basic necessities on my own, without having to resort to stealing from people who maybe aren’t much better off.”

With a shrug, Cas tucks the wallet back into his jacket. Good thing Steve didn’t see the other wallets he’d lifted. He’ll have to remember to take anything useful from them and toss ‘em into the nearest dumpster.

When everything is washed, dried and folded, they haul it all back to the storefront. While they put the sheets on the bed, Steve mentions his concerns about having the owner discover them and have them arrested for trespassing. Of _course_ he gets saddled with a bleeding-heart version of himself.

“Nah. People do this all the time.” He aims for nonchalance and says, “As long as we’re not trashing the place we’ll be fine. Besides, better than sleeping on the floor, right?”

Steve still looks doubtful, and a shadow passes over his face, like he’s had worse places to sleep than on the floor of the Gas ‘n Sip.

For lunch, Steve suggests a place near work, a shop that serves burgers and shakes. He says he doesn’t eat there often, but it feels like a special occasion. Cas insists on paying with the money he’d stolen, and Steve frowns at him again.

“What? You’re saving to rent a place, right? Hey, maybe if we both work at it, I could be your roomie?”

That causes a soft look of hope to bloom, and Cas can’t help but feel a little sorry for the guy.

Oh, damn. It’s been forever since he’s had a decent meal, more than a bowlful of whatever they’d come up with in the camp’s kitchen in order to feed everybody. The burger is greasy and glorious, the taste of ketchup, pickle, and mustard exploding on his tongue. And real meat, not boiled to within an inch of its life, nestled inside of a soft bun. It’s farm-grown beef, not wild-caught whatever the hell they managed to shoot outside the confines of the compound. He’s finished with both burger and fries before Steve has made his way through his own burger. With a smile, the guy nudges his basket towards Cas, and he tries to only eat half of the fries there.

Steve suggests he get a shake, and Cas is up at the register, trying to decide what flavor. Chocolate shake in hand, he sits back in his seat and watches people who have no real fear for their life go about their business. Maybe he could stand being stuck here. Glancing over at Steve happily munching his fries, Cas thinks he should let his beard grow out. That way they won’t draw too much attention, and maybe he can play off being the guy’s cousin.

When they’ve finished their meal, they head back to the empty storefront. Cas sprawls across the air mattress, and Steve digs a small, worn paperback out of his duffel and sits on the window ledge to read it. Without a bustling camp surrounding him, or drugs to distract, Cas gets bored before long.

After about half an hour of listening to the traffic outside, and the sound of turning pages, Cas rolls over and breaks the silence. “What do you normally do on your days off, if you sleep in the store?”

Steve places a receipt bookmark in the book and sets it aside. “I usually go to the library, or sometimes the community center.” He picks at a loose edge of tape holding the paper over the window. “Sometimes I’ll go to the park, watch the people, animals.”

Cas scratches his head, “No, I mean what do you do for _fun_?”

Steve holds up his book. “I find those activities enjoyable. Is there something wrong with that?”

Cas can’t believe he’s such a square. Well, maybe he can. After all, how did Dean once put it? It took a while to get the stick out of his ass. He huffs at the thought, _that stick got replaced with Dean’s dick_. He’s stricken with a sudden pang of loss, thinking about what was meant to be a suicide mission to take down Lucifer. More than likely, _his_ Dean is dead. _And I should be, too_. Damn it, if he can’t get high, he needs to stay active before he loses his fucking mind.

Steve is still staring at him when Cas bounces off the mattress and heads to the counter to sort through whatever was left behind. Ignoring his doppelgänger, he crouches on his heels to peer under the counter. All he finds is a cardboard box full of VHS cases, a couple of power cords, and a phone line. The tape cases are empty, and he sneezes from the dust that’s kicked up. Suddenly, he has an idea.

“Hey,” he peeks over the edge of the counter. “I’m gonna go back to Walgreens, turn in that wallet.”

Steve looks up from his book. “Do you want me to come with?”

Cas waves him off, “Nah, just need to go for a walk, shouldn’t take long.”

Steve nods, tells him to take care, and goes back to his book. After he snags the other wallets he’d grabbed yesterday, Cas steps outside, and heads down the street.

* * *

 

Castiel finishes his book before his double returns, and he stretches out on the air mattress in close approximation to what he’d seen earlier. It _is_ comfortable, and he can feel his spine straighten and pop. He wonders what name his double wishes to use, because even though he goes by Steve here, he still thinks of himself as Castiel, or Cas. And using anything like his real name might draw too much attention.

While Castiel is thinking of names, and what it would be like to share an apartment with his other self, he dozes lightly. It’s nice, not having to worry about where he has to go next. He’s awakened by the sound of the back door opening, and he jerks up into a sitting position, ready to run. But it’s just his twin, pizza box in one hand, and a shopping bag in the other.

“Hey, thought you might be hungry, so I picked up something to eat.”

Castiel nods, and gets up to grab the box and set it on the counter. As he watches his double pull multiple items out of his shopping bag, he gives him a disapproving frown.

“You do realize, if you get caught stealing, that I will probably be the one blamed.”

His double throws his head back and groans, “C’mon, I swear this is most of the last of the cash from that wallet. The least I could do was make us comfortable with it, right?”

Castiel looks down at the small, portable radio that’s among the most recent purchases. It might actually be nice to listen to something other than what’s always piped in through the store speakers.

“Alright, but you should look for a job if you wish to continue buying comfort items.” He puts down the radio and looks at the luridly colored bottle of alcoholic beverage. “And fortified wine is definitely not a necessity.”

His twin grabs at the bottle. “Says you.”

“And what exactly is an ‘electric melon’, anyway?”

Castiel finds a radio station playing soothing music that they both seem to enjoy, and the pizza is delicious. They stand at the counter eating, and Castiel brings up the subject of names.

“I dunno, I was thinking I’d just go by Cas or something?”

Castiel wipes his mouth with a napkin and purses his lips. “You might be in danger of being discovered if you use that name, I’m afraid.”

“They’re really pissed at you, huh?”

He looks up to see familiar blue eyes looking at him sadly. Castiel shrugs, and takes a sip from the bottle that had been offered to him. He makes a face.

“I don’t understand how you drink this, it’s particularly foul.”

His double finishes off his own bottle with a grimace. “Well, of course you’d end up in a town without a liquor store.”

Castiel scowls. “I don’t normally drink alcoholic beverages, so I don’t see the point.”

Rolling his eyes, his double grabs Castiel’s bottle and takes a swig. “What, you never understood why Dean drank so much?”

Castiel remembers drinking a liquor store in a fugue, and the aftermath it caused. He has no desire to repeat that. He tries to redirect the conversation. “So have you put any more thought into a name?”

His double is leaning back, rubbing his belly. “I used Clarence when I caught a ride on the way into town.”

Castiel flinches, remembering how Meg used to call him that. It’s a name he’d used himself when he first became human.

“No good either?”

He glances up, “Oh, it’s fine. Just… memories attached to it.”

“So am I Clarence then?”

Castiel grabs the bottle of alcohol and takes another swig with a grimace, “Sure. Why not?”

* * *

 

The next morning, an alarm jerks Cas awake. They’re piled up in the center of the mattress again, this time back-to-back. Steve groans and rolls over to turn off his alarm, and falls off the mattress. There’s a grunt, and another groan. Okay, so maybe he shouldn’t have encouraged the guy to drink almost a whole bottle of MD 20/20. He’s a lightweight, and he probably has a pounding headache. Sure enough, he hears a curse from Steve as the alarm goes silent. Messy bed-head peeks over the edge of the mattress, and bleary eyes squint at him.

“I am _never_ drinking that abominable beverage again,” Steve grates out.

Cas pulls the sleeping bag over his head. “When you get to work, grab a coffee and two Tylenol. Maybe some bread? You’ll be fine.”

Steve growls, “You’re not the one who has to count tills at six in the morning, and brew the coffee.”

Cas closes his eyes, and listens to Steve stumble around while getting dressed for work. When the door closes, he manages to fall asleep. The next time he wakes, it’s much later in the day. After crawling out of bed, having something sweet for breakfast, and getting dressed, Cas heads out to explore the parts of town that Steve might normally avoid.

\- - - - -

Wow. This town is weird. He spent most of the day trying to find the ‘wrong’ side, only to end up at the college. But it turned out to be a freaking Mormon university. So he figured, even at a religious college there’s sure to be a deviant side, right? Ha. He got lucky and found a stoner hanging out in the cafeteria. And even then, he had to share one of his own precious joints before he could persuade the kid to sell him a baggie. Whatever it is, it smells much better than the stinkweed he’d been cultivating near the camp.

When he gets back to their little storefront, he finds Steve propped up on the mattress with another paperback. He puts down his book and looks up at Cas.

“Hi! I wasn’t expecting you to be gone when I returned. Is everything alright?”

Cas waves him off as he shrugs out of his jacket. “Yeah. Just wanted to check around town, see who’s hiring.”

“Ahh, I see.” Steve sits up. “Did you have any luck?”

“Nope. I’m beginning to wonder how you found a job. This place is crawling with college students.”

Steve shrugs, “I happened to arrive as the manager was complaining about having just lost an employee. Thankfully, she didn’t look very hard at my credentials, or lack of identification.”

“Well, I guess we both can’t have the luck, huh?”

Steve thumbs at the corner of his book. “I’m sure something will become available. It’s not a good idea to give up on your very first day.”

Cas nods, thinking about the weed in his pocket and how to get away with lighting up. “Hey, are you hungry?”

“I bought some burritos after my shift, they’re sitting on the counter.” Steve points at the plastic Gas ’n Sip bag that he hadn’t noticed when he came in.

“Aw, you’re the best.” Cas grabs the bag and settles on the bed next to Steve. “You in the mood for…” he checks labels, “Beef and bean, bean and rice, or spicy beef?”

While they eat, Cas picks on Steve a bit about reading all the time. Steve frowns at him around a bite of burrito, and after he swallows, explains that it’s an inexpensive and enjoyable pastime. That, and he’s learned about adapting to humanity through his books. Cas is less than impressed.

“You actually gotta get out there, experience humanity, immerse yourself in it.”

Steve squints at him. “What do you think I’m doing working at the Gas ‘n Sip?”

Okay, so the guy has a point. “Still, you need to learn to loosen up a bit man. Tell you what.” He pulls out his new baggie of aromatic herb. “How about you experience a really fun way to loosen up?”

Steve looks confused, “Why do you have a small bag of dried greenery in your pocket?”

“You’re telling me you’ve never seen pot before?” He gets another confused look in return. “Weed, chronic, wacky tobaccy, ganja, Mary Jane, reefer?”

“You mean marijuana.”

“ _YES_! C’mon. It feels good to get buzzed, loosened up.” Steve still looks unimpressed. “Tell you what. We should light up. This is definitely a human experience you haven’t tried before.”

Steve’s frown deepens, and he shakes his head. “I can’t.”

“Why?”

“The company does drug testing.”

Cas wheedles, “Man, it’ll be outta your system before they ever get around to testing you. C’mon. A couple of tokes. If you don’t like it, I won’t bother you about it again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I found the image that prompted this story!  
> 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas and Castiel get stoned and enjoy themselves, before feelings get involved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, the last of the story.  
> Possibly a little dubcon with them getting stoned.  
> Second half of the chapter is full of FEELINGS.  
> *****  
> CHARACTER DEATH  
> *****  
> ^ I placed this warning ^ above the very last section that has character death. If you want to skip that part, you can read until you see the warning.  
> It's just tying off a plot point that my beta insisted on.

Castiel is still doubtful, but he finds he wants to trust this other version of himself, at least a little. He watches as ‘Clarence’ takes a chunk of greenery out of the bag, breaks it up and then rolls it up inside a small paper. After he does this twice, he carefully scoops the loose leaves back into the baggie which he stores inside his jacket. When he’s finished, he pulls out a cheap, disposable lighter like the ones sold at the store.

“Now watch me.”

He takes the handrolled cigarette, brings it to his lips, and lights the end. Taking a mouthful of smoke, he inhales deep and holds if for a few seconds, before letting it out with a laughing cough. The smoke is pungent, and smells like when a nearby forest caught on fire, but with a slightly sweeter smell.

“Holy shit, that’s smooth,” he growls, handing the cigarette to Castiel. “You ready to try?”

Nervous, Castiel takes the cigarette, and emulates Clarence's actions, pulling the acrid smoke into his mouth. But when he tries to inhale, he ends up choking and coughing on the thick smoke. The bittersweet herbal taste fills his senses, and he can’t breathe. For a moment, he’s coughing so hard, it triggers his gag reflex a couple of times, and he almost vomits.

A firm hand is rubbing circles across his back when he comes back to his senses, breathing in broken, stuttering gasps of air. He’s handed a bottle of water, and after another attempt at a deep breath, he takes a long drink. That actually helps.

“I’m sorry, should have realized this would’ve been a bit harsh on you, first time and all.”

Castiel takes another sip of water and glares at Clarence, tears in his eyes. “Only time, you mean.”

Clarence pouts at him. “Aww, c’mon. The first time’s always the roughest, because your lungs don’t know what it’s like yet.” He turns to face him, hand on a shoulder. “Let’s try it one more time, in a way that I know will be less harsh. Ever hear of shotgunning?”

With a confused face, Castiel pulls back. “What do firearms have to do with recreational drug use?”

Giggling bursts from Clarence. “Oh, that’s a good one! No, it just means I toke first, then breathe the smoke into your mouth. One more time, and then you can stop if it’s terrible. Alright?”

Wary, Castiel nods in agreement. After all, except for a penchant for thievery, this other version of himself doesn’t seem like a terrible person. If anything, he was able to avoid most of his own biggest mistakes.

He watches as Clarence takes another long pull of the handrolled, and leans forward when a hand is placed on the back of his neck. Eyes wide, he sees that familiar face grow closer, lips pursed as if for a kiss. But he stops an inch away, and squeezes the back of his neck to get him to inhale. As soon as he does, smoke escapes the other’s mouth, and flows into his lungs. It’s not as bad this time, the smoke having cooled and partially filtered by another set of lungs before entering his own.

When he’s taken all he can, Castiel purses his lips and holds his breath. It’s only a handful of seconds before his lungs spasm for clean air, and he releases the smoke. It was definitely better this time, but he wonders why people find this pleasurable.

“Again?” asks Clarence, after he’s taken a couple of clean breaths.

Not sure how many times they’re supposed to do this, Castiel nods. After two more “shotgun” inhalations, Castiel is starting to feel lightheaded. The first cigarette finished, Clarence leans back on the bed, grinning at the ceiling. Thinking of shotguns, Castiel pictures the smoke drifting from a freshly fired weapon’s barrel, and he suddenly gets it. He finds it inordinately funny, and bursts into giggles.

Clarence rolls over to face him, bloodshot eyes drooping, but grin still firmly in place. “What’s so funny?”

“I… I figured out why it’s called shotgunning!” Castiel takes a deep breath before bursting into giggles again. Between fits of laughter, he talks about gun smoke and barrels, and collapses on the bed holding his sides. He doesn’t even know why it’s funny, but Clarence begins laughing with him.

“This is definitely better stuff than what we had at the camp. I’m not used to getting this baked off of one joint.”

Castiel doesn’t understand half of what Clarence is saying, but he nods and bursts into a fresh wave of giggles. It takes a few moments before he calms down enough to breathe.

“My cheeks hurt. I can’t stop smiling!”

In spite of his sore face and stomach muscles, everything seems… fun. The world is spinny, but in a different way than the effect from alcohol. His limbs feel loose and pliant, and except for his face, which appears to be frozen into a huge grin, he’s so relaxed.

He plops down next to Clarence, facing him. The face before him seems fascinating, and he can’t help but reach out and touch. He’s touching his own face, yet not. He’s touching someone else’s face, yet it’s his. That seems so existential, and he says so. Clarence’s mouth has relaxed into a small, sly grin. He lets Castiel trace his fingers along his cheeks, brush his eyelashes, trace his brow.

When his fingers brush across his wide lips, Clarence’s mouth opens and he licks the tips. That draws Castiel’s attention fully to his mouth, and he spreads the saliva from his fingertips across Clarence's bottom lip. New thoughts spring to mind, about what it would be like to kiss himself. These new thoughts seem so rational and logical, he feels he must test that right away. Leaning in, he brushes their lips together, and that’s nice. It’s different from kissing a woman, something he’s only done a handful of times.

When he pulls back, Clarence is staring at him wide-eyed. “What was that for?”

The grin comes back full-force to his tired cheeks. “I wanted to see what it was like to kiss myself.”

“Was it everything you hoped it would be?”

Castiel huffs out a laugh, “Well, it was a small kiss. I think I need to try it again.”

Clarence reaches up and tugs him down, drawing him into a deep, breath-stealing kiss. Their mouths part, and Castiel can taste the lingering flavor of herbal smoke as their tongues play against each other. It’s hard to kiss while smiling though, and Castiel pulls away after a long moment, a thin strand of spittle connecting them. This brings on a fresh onset of giggles.

“You know, there’s something that’s impossible for a human to do,” says Clarence.

“What’s that?”

“Kiss your own elbow.”

Castiel decides to test that, and contorts himself to try to kiss his own elbow. And he finds that fascinating. But then Clarence wraps a hand around his upper arm, leans down, and kisses Castiel’s elbow.

“That’s cheating,” he pouts.

“And that’s not all,” whispers Clarence, leaning in and nuzzling Castiel’s neck.

Oh, that feels very nice. Thoughts of two mornings ago come forth in his mind, and he remembers what had happened. A wave of heat flows through him, slow and languid. His arms wrap around his double, keeping him in place, encouraging him to find other places his mouth wouldn’t normally reach. It feels like they’re breaking the rules of physics, and it feels wonderful.

Hands caress his body, _his_ hands, hardened by years of humanity compared to the ones currently attached to his wrists. These hands decide that it would be a good idea to explore as well, and he feels the muscles of his back, leaning over himself, nibbling his own neck.

“Masturbation,” he mumbles, thoughts drawn back to a calloused hand stroking him to release.

“Hmmm?” his deep voice rumbles from the base of his throat, where a mouth -his mouth- is sucking on his skin.

“I want to explore more masturbation with you, with myself.” Feeling both grounded and like he’s floating, he feels his double chuckle before pulling Castiel’s shirt up, and getting it over his head.

“That can be arranged,” growls the other him, dipping to take a nipple into his mouth.

“Ahh!” he cries out, everything feeling like a contrast of extra-sensitive yet wrapped in cotton. Pressing close, his double slides down his body, touching, caressing, kissing, licking. He surrenders to the sensation and gives into it, writhing and grasping at bedding, at his double’s hair, anything to ground him.

Time seems to slip, because he realizes his pants are around his knees, and a wet tongue is lapping at his penis. He hears wailing noises, and realizes he’s the one making them. Everything is too much, not enough, and his hips roll up, wanting more. His other self obliges, dipping his head down, and taking his erection into his mouth. And oh, it’s better than anything. It’s transcendent. The universe contracts down to his own body, everything focused on the sensations being drawn from him. The wet mouth suckling him, the palm cradling his testes, the thumb… pressing against his anus. That sensation is definitely new, and confusing in how much he seems to enjoy it. His doubts fade as a rumbling causes vibrations along his length, and he arches off the bed.

That thumb never goes any farther than just pressing and rubbing against his hole, massaging and pressing a spot just in front of it that feels connected to his penis. Awash in sensation, he feels his orgasm build quickly, rolling upon him like a tide. His cries grow louder, his panting more harsh. Finally, at the peak of his pleasure, the mouth wrapped around him pulls stronger, that thumb presses firmly, and he’s crying out to the ceiling, hands buried in thick hair, and galaxies explode from him as the universe bursts from where it was confined to this small human body.

The moment is a revelation, and he basks in the feeling of being one with everything, in a way he never even felt as an angel. As soon as he can catch his breath, he’s giggling again, giddy with the insights the moment has brought him. His double slides up against him, pressing a kiss to his cheek before looking down on him.

“That good?”

“Let me do that for you,” he breathes, grasping for the button of his double’s jeans. It would be criminal to not allow him to experience that.

Hands halt his progression. “Oh, no. You’re not getting anywhere near my dick when you can’t stop grinning like a loon.”

Well, that doesn’t make any sense, although it sounds really funny. “Loons are birds, they can’t grin!”

A mouth presses against his, and he hungrily dips his tongue inside, tasting his own ejaculate.

“Fuck, I need to jack off,” his double pants, pulling away from the kiss.

“Let me,” Castiel insists, reaching again for the fastening of his jeans.

“Your teeth still aren’t getting anywhere near my junk.”

“I promise,” Castiel breathes, before leaning in for another kiss. His hand wraps around the familiar girth of his erect penis, but he can only feel his hand wrapped around it, because this erection belongs to the other him. He does what he knows he likes, pulling slow and firm from base to just under the head, only gathering precome from the tip with his thumb to help the slide of his hand. He uses the gasps and encouraging words of his partner to guide him, and soon uses his mouth to explore his neck, earlobe, and shoulder.

The skin is warm and salty under his tongue, and he finds that spot where his double bit him, and it draws out a growl. Biting down harder, he feels the erection in his fist harden, then pulse as come jets into his hand. With the extra slickness, and remembering how his own semen was used as lubricant to bring him to peak a couple of days ago, he keeps milking his double through it, until he hears a whimper, and a nudge to release his hand. He looks at the sticky, viscous fluid on his hand before wiping it off with a discarded shirt.

Both of them sated, Castiel feels languorous, and watches the look of satisfaction on his partner’s face. A question tickles the back of his mind, and he brings it forth to examine it. After looking at it from all angles, he verbalizes it.

“Have you ever had sexual relations with Dean?”

His double -Clarence, he must remember that- tenses at the question. “Why… why do you ask?”

“Because you were saying his name the other morning, before we engaged in masturbation. I believe you were dreaming.”

Clarence looks uncomfortable, and Castiel is quick to try to dispel him of it. “It’s alright, I understand your situation is different from mine. Your Dean didn’t have to witness my multiple failures, wasn’t subject to my abject betrayals.”

Castiel sighs and closes his eyes. “I was just wondering… I’ve loved Dean for a long time, and I hope that you at least got to express that.”

He should have never said anything. The warm fuzzy feeling is dissipating, as an ache in his chest grows. Arms wrap around him, and he feels a kiss pressed into his hair.

“What a way to kill the buzz there.” There’s a sigh, warm breath in his hair. “And yes, I did tell him how I felt, and he reciprocated.”

Castiel can feel his throat tighten, a burning behind his eyes.

“Things weren’t always… easy though. He grew colder as the fighting progressed. He changed into a different man, and over time, the sex was less about love, more about release of tension.”

Hot tears roll from Castiel’s eyes, and his breath hitches. The arms around him tighten, and hands soothe down his back.

“We began having sex with others, and even though we still slept in the same bed, even sometimes joined together, it was never the same.”

A hand cups Castiel’s face, and tilts his face up so that he looks into sad eyes.

“I never wanted to tell you, because even though we were together, we both changed.”

The hand releases his face, and he’s tucked back against a warm chest.

“We both became things we never wanted to.” There’s a shuddering breath. “And now, I suppose my Dean is quite possibly dead, considering the Colt doesn’t work.”

They stay curled around each other, weeping silently for what they’ve both lost. Eventually, they both fall asleep.

When his alarm goes off the next morning, Castiel is puffy-eyed and his mouth feels as if it’s been stuffed with cotton. He drags himself from bed to get ready, and Clarence curls up in a ball at his absence. After a change of clothes and combing his hair, Castiel swears he can still smell marijuana smoke on himself. Through his entire shift at work, he’s paranoid and jumpy. When Nora asks about his red eyes, he lies and says he cried after reading a book. He hates it, but he’s so afraid of losing his sole source of income.

* * *

 

Cas wakes up a couple hours after Steve leaves for work, and he feels drained. Okay, so the weed seemed like a good idea at the time, and good things came from it. But he wasn’t expecting the question about Dean, and it blindsided him. It left him feeling vulnerable, and without a warm body next to him, he feels empty.

Grumpily rolling out of bed, he takes a long shower as hot as he can stand, until the water cools. Then he goes out for something to eat, comes back and gets completely baked, smoking about half of his new supply in the process. He doesn’t want to feel that empty hole inside, the one that started forming when Dean began seeking out other people to fuck. He tried filling it with recreational pharmaceuticals and other warm bodies, but the only time it ever felt really filled was when he was with Dean.

But it seemed that after every encounter they had together, that hole grew a little wider, got a little deeper. So he used drugs constantly, self-medicating with an array of different chemicals until he didn’t care anymore. All that’s gone now, and he’s saddled with a version of himself that’s a different kind of empty. If they cling to each other, maybe they can help plaster over each other’s internal wounds.

When Steve comes back from work, he makes a face at the smell filling the storefront, but feeds Cas, then curls up around him, offering warmth and something to cling to. That night, they don’t even kiss. They just hold each other in the dark, acting as each other’s anchors.

* * *

 

Over the course of a week, Clarence seems to have stopped smoking. Or at least, he doesn’t do it where Castiel will smell it anymore. When Castiel arrives back at their empty storefront, there’s a meal awaiting him. Clarence had insisted on buying a hotplate and a small set of pots and pans, so now they don’t have to rely on microwaved foods or take-out. It’s nice, and as Castiel is able to save more money, he feels that as soon as Clarence can find a job, they should be able to rent an apartment together.

Except one day, he wakes up to an empty air mattress. The room is cold, and there’s no sign of Clarence anywhere. Everything is still there, except for the clothes he was wearing when he arrived. Hoping Clarence simply left early, Castiel prepares for his day, and goes in to work for the closing shift. When he returns, there’s still no sign of Clarence. Worried, Castiel barely sleeps. By the end of the second day, Castiel’s mood has shifted from worried to despondent. He wasn’t even good enough for his double from another universe, and now he’s been abandoned.

Used to it by now but still disappointed, Castiel buries his feelings —something else he learned from the Winchesters— and dives head-first into his work and his acclimation to humanity.

\- - - - -

One crisp morning at the beginning of December, the headline of the newspaper draws his attention.

**BIKER GANG SLAUGHTERED AT MONTANA ROADHOUSE**

Setting the topmost newspaper aside to read later, he continues his opening duties. Opening the store’s doors for the day, Castiel lets in the regulars who usually make the Gas ‘n Sip their first stop of the day for coffee and gossip. When he turns on the television, the morning news is also talking about the biker gang found slaughtered in Montana. The town in which they were discovered is not that far from Rexford, actually.

Over the course of the day, Castiel becomes more and more curious about the biker deaths. Something isn’t right, and then he finds out about the eyes. Eyes that have been burned out. These are angel killings. Alone in the storefront after work, Castiel spreads out the newspaper from that morning, and a small notepad with notes he’d jotted down throughout the day. After making up his mind to investigate this, Castiel pulls out a roadmap and finds the best route to Caribou, Montana.

After using his phone to check bus ticket and hotel prices, Castiel makes himself lie down on the air mattress until early dawn. He calls Nora, and claims having fallen ill. Since he’s been an exemplary employee, she tells him to take as long as he needs to recover. Hopefully, this won’t take more than a couple of days. He deflates the air mattress with care, and packs away his few new non-portable belongings into the supply closet. This way, if the owner of the property stops by, perhaps it won’t look suspicious. A trip to the thrift store for a new suit and tie later, and then he’s off to Montana on a Greyhound, the FBI badge Dean gave him years ago in his pocket.

*****

If you don't want the Character Death STOP READING NOW

*****

* * *

 

Cas remembers falling asleep comfortable and safe, a warm body next to him. So then why is he cold, on a hard surface, the sounds of fighting and gunfire surrounding him? Opening his eyes, he recognizes his surroundings as the sanitarium. The one where he’d expected to die.

The tiniest movement sends piercing pain through him, and he shifts his head enough to notice the widening pool of blood around him, the open wound in his chest. Heartbeat increasing, which just pumps the blood out of his body faster, Cas knows he’s dying, that Dean is most likely dead, and his counterpart in the other universe will think he’s been abandoned. Again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's something liberating in working with a pairing/subject that will get fewer hits.  
> Not as many people are likely to find/click on it, so the ones who do look are the ones most likely to enjoy, leave kudos, comment.  
> I love you all!  
> Thank you for taking your time to look at my little story, and sorry for the feelings.


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